


Hunter|Prey

by Medie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We kill to survive." She stands. "You kill because you like it." -- in Beacon Hills, the wolf at the door isn't the monster. It's the man outside with the gun. Some day, Chris might actually realize that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunter|Prey

**Author's Note:**

> some day, Jeff Davis may see fit to have Amanda Tapping guest star on Teen Wolf, playing a werewolf with whom Chris Argent hopefully has embarrassing amounts of inappropriate chemistry, but until he does--have this fic because, yeah, Sophie = Amanda.

Wolves are howling when he falls. 

It's a blur of snow, tree branches, and pain as he hurtles down the incline. Something tears in his leg and fire burns its way through his head and when Chris comes to a stop against a tree, there isn't a part of him that isn't screaming.

He opens bleary eyes, looking for a gun that's nowhere to be found. His groan is as much annoyance as pain as he tries to stand. He doesn't have long before the pack finds him and he'll need every second of it.

His leg doesn't seem to care about the jeopardy, collapsing beneath his weight and pulling him down into a heap. Try as he might, Chris can't do more than crawl a few feet. Defeated, he passes out to the sound of a werewolf's howl and the thump of feet behind him. 

Someone's there when he wakes. Chris lashes out, trying to grab for them, but pain flares everywhere and his arm won't respond. Someone's hand holds firm, gentle, guiding his arm back to his side. The hand lets go and a woman's voice murmurs, "Easy. You're safe. You're in my cabin." 

A cup appears before his face, made blurry by his head injury, but Chris smells the familiar scent of coffee and realizes he's freezing. "Drink slowly," the same voice says and he becomes aware of a body's warmth behind him. 

"Wh—" his voice cracks, mouth dry enough to tell him just how long he's been out, and he takes a second to sip the coffee. It's hot to the point of burning, so he goes slow until the hand holding the mug takes it away.

Clearing his throat, he tries again and finds his voice stronger, "Who are you?"

"My name is Sophie." The body behind him eases back, away from him and he flinches against the cold air rushing in. "Sorry." The mug makes a soft thunk as it connects with a wooden surface, then the heat of Sophie's body returns. She curls herself around him, her dark hair smelling of wood smoke and the night air. "I don't think you're hypothermic, but you aren't far from it."

Chris nods. His skin is crawling, whether from a stranger's presence or the cold, he doesn't try and guess. He just forces himself to stillness and allows her to enfold him in her embrace. "Thank you."

She hums, noncommittal. There's something about the way she doesn't answer. Something that should matter to him. Something that should worry him, but he doesn't get the chance to figure it out.

He falls asleep again. 

He doesn't know how much time has passed before someone's gently shaking him awake. He fights it, tired, but Sophie's voice calls his name and keeps calling until he opens his eyes to look at her.

"Good," she says, almost smiling. "I was worried you might have a concussion." 

Still fuzzy, Chris takes a moment to look at the woman bending over him. Her eyes are blue. "Probably," he says, at last. "Won't be the first one."

"If you're wondering how I knew your name," Sophie lays his wallet on the bed before him. "I was looking for a phone number. I'm afraid your cellphone didn't survive the snow."

He remembers now, his mind clearer, and he looks at her. "You're a member of the pack, aren't you?"

She nods. "Yes." Putting his wallet on the beside table, she adds, "The last snowstorm we had knocked out the phones, but we're trying to get word back to Beacon Hills. One of the pack left last night." 

"Why?"

She leans over to help him up, settling him against the pillows and tucking a quilt more firmly around him. "Why did I bring you back here?" She kneels on the bed, probing at his head wound. He can feel the itch of tape and when he reaches up, he finds a bandage there. "I don't think why matters, does it?"

He looks up at her. Batting his fingers away, she peels back the bandage and eyes the wound underneath. "It does to me."

"Forgive me if I have trouble believing that." Sophie replaces the bandages. "You're looking for proof I'm not a monster, but we both know no proof will ever satisfy you." She hands him a bowl this time, steaming hot stew, and places a glass of water on the bedside table before settling into an old rocking chair. "If I said that I saw no worth in leaving a man to die, you'd tell me that it was an attempt to curry favor by saving a hunter to keep the others at bay." She tips her head, dark curls spilling with the motion and he can't believe this woman is a werewolf, even if he knows in his gut that she is. "I saved you and that was my choice. Deciding on my motives, however, is yours." 

"You know it's not that simple." The words are automatic, but he stumbles over them anyway. There were days when he would have meant them, spoken them with the fervor of the lifelong convert, but he imagines Allison standing over this woman with a bow in her hand and his stomach twists. It outright rebels when he pictures himself and his gun. "It can't be." 

"You complicate it for your own sake," Sophie says. She crosses her legs and laces her hands together on her stomach. "Your conscience needs justifications." 

"Your kind—"

"—have killed far less of yours than you have," Sophie finishes before he can get any further. "We kill to survive." She stands. "You kill because you like it." 

Chris starts to sit up, angry, but the soup sloshes in his hands, stinging with the burn. He settles back and quietly says, "That isn't true and you know it."

She looks at his chest and smiles sadly. "Do I?"

It's the last they speak of it and, when he's able, she takes him down the mountain in a battered old jeep where Allison's waiting.

When Sophie helps him into the car, he catches her hand. "We're not all like them."

She pulls free.

"You're close enough."


End file.
